Mascochism

Gratification gained from pain, deprivation, degradation, inflicted or imposed on oneself by a morality.

"I am not the Jedi I am supposed to be. I want more. I know that I shouldn't." –Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker to Padme Amidala,The Revenge of the Sith

"Train yourself to let go of everything you fear to lose." –Jedi Master Yoda to Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker, The Revenge of the Sith

"I wear my robe so that I am warm; I carry my lightsaber so that I am safe; and I keep enough credits for my next meal, so that I am not hungry. If the Force wants me to have more, it finds a way of letting me know." -Attributed to Jedi Master Kagoro, Power of the Jedi Sourcebook

"I've brought hundreds of Force-sensitives to the Temple. Some of these younglings had already begun their first lives and were accustomed to soft fabrics, riotous colors, and endless choices – all the indulgences of the outsiders who value self over service." –Jedi Recruiter Morrit Ch'Gally, The Jedi Path

1

In the cockpit of a two-seater ARC-170 fighter, Faetōsa struggles to focus. The fighter dips and wobbles in space. "Steady now," comes Kittani's voice from the pilot's seat. "Okay, we got a bogey on our tail now. We need to roll in three, two, one, now!" Faetōsa nervously noses the ARC fighter down. "Roll, Tōsa, not pitch!" Kittani urges. "Come on, you know this!" "Right, right, I know," sputters Faetōsa, pulling the joystick to starboard. As the fighters weave, a shadow falls over them. The Ardent's current location is conducive to such flying lessons; there is little chance for Separatist entanglement here in deep space. Such empty vastness is unfamiliar to Faetōsa. After Dooku's escape on Lothal, she and Eschrik had been given a new mission:"The Council would like you to take the Ardent and travel the Colonies to patrol our inner trade lanes, rendezvous with navy outposts, and to be on hand to resolve local diplomatic disputes," Master Kenobi had instructed her master. Eschrik had been appalled. "You're sending us on a routine war patrol?" he had asked incredulously. "We'll rotate the 173rd Legion and the Ardent back to the front-line once you've had some rest," Master Kenobi had said palliatively. "Try to enjoy it." Though Eschrik had been disgusted at this assignment, he had not protested. Since then, however, Eschrik had made himself scarce aboard his cruiser. When Captain Drayen had encouraged Faetōsa to get to know the ship's crew in the absence of her master and in light of the ship's uneventful slough through space, she had decided to take up Kenobi's exhortation. "Tōsa!" Kittani's voice snaps her back to focus. Faetōsa's flight correction has come too late; a second ARC fighter drops in behind the first, radio electronic lasers peppering the tail of the first."You're dead, Ravenflight," a voice crackles gleefully over the comm. "Copy that, Vulture. Alright, Tōsa. We'll get 'em next time." Faetōsa shakes her helmeted head. "I'm sorry, Kittani," she offers lamely. "Out here, kid, its Ravenflight," Kittani says. "You call the ball. Take us back to the Big A."

2

As Faetōsa climbs down from the ARC fighter's cockpit, she pockets a small carved figure that she had taped to the console. Two clone pilots in their flight suits come bounding up, helmet in hand. "The Commander was looking a little confused out there today, wouldn't you say, Boomerang?," the first pilot laughs. "Yeah, just like you on your first combat mission, Vulture," kids Kittani. Boomerang punches Faetōsa's shoulder and points. "Better luck next time, kid!" Vulture and Boomerang disappear from the flight deck. Now Kittani puts an arm around her. "Look, Tōsa. You've gotta relax out there. You're tight. Worried. Tense. If you want to learn to fly well, you need to learn to be loose." Faetōsa forces a smile as the two women head away from the flight deck. "Be loose?" she wonders. "Yeah, kid, loose. Like this," Kittani says, stretching her arms and filling the passageway with her frame. "LT, get your ruddy appendages outta my face!" teases a passing clone pilot. "Keep your ruddy face away from my appendages, Gambler!" she teases back. As Gambler disappears, Faetōsa stops. "Kittani, how can you be so...carefree?" Kittani's smile vanishes. "Kid, we're on a long patrol. This duty is about as light as it gets during wartime." Faetōsa folds her arms. "That's not what I mean. You seem happy here. You always do. Aside from when I first met you after Garos, you've always been so... I don't know, so joyous." Faetōsa pauses. Kittani crosses her arms and leans against the wall of the corridor. "When was the last time you were home, Tōsa?" Faetōsa ponders this question; when was the last time she had seen Ty? "Nearly two years now, I think," she answers. Kittani whistles. "See, kid, then I don't blame you for being so tightly wound. Being at home, with your friends, that's what keeps you grounded. As for me? Well, the Big A is my home. And once you're at home with your friends long enough, then they become your family. And every day you get to spend with your family? That's tops. There's nowhere else I'd rather be. Who knows, kid," says Kittani, flashing a smile, "maybe you'll stick around long enough to think about us like that someday."

3

As the two walk unhurriedly through the corridor from the flight deck towards the locker room, Faetōsa speaks again. "Kittani, can I ask you something?" Kittani nods. "Yeah, shoot." Faetōsa is confident that her friendship with Kittani is strong, but doesn't know how this question will land. She takes a breath. "Kittani, why are you the only female officer aboard this ship?" Kittani smiles widely, taking off her gloves. "I'm not, remember?" Kittani stands stiff at attention, raising her hand. "Respectfully speaking, Commander, you're my superior officer. So that makes two of us!" Faetōsa smiles and returns the jest salute. Here Kittani purses her lips and runs a hand through her sharp black hair. "Well, Tōsa, its like this. Very few women enter flight school. Even on Coreilla, growing up I was told flying was for boys. But I always wanted to do it, and was too stubborn to take no for an answer. Naturally, I acted out as a kid, and when my parents wanted to send me away to military school, I told them: Mr. and Mrs. Kittani, make it flight school, and you have yourself a deal." Faetōsa laughs. "You did not say that!" Kittani snickers. "You bet I did!" The two exchange a laugh and enter the locker room.

4

Sitting on a bench across from Faetōsa, Kittani continues her story, unlacing her boots. "Anyway, after that, I joined up. Back then, before the war, they had me doing shuttle duty for military personnel, supply runs, that kind of thing. That's probably because my boneheaded commanding officer had no idea what to do with a woman pilot. But then the war started, and they needed pilots for the frontline fighter squadrons. Course, that's where I wanted to be from the beginning. I flew a couple missions, got a couple kills, and got promoted here to be the Squadron Leader on the Big A." Faetōsa eyes her skeptically. "A couple kills? Kittani, I don't think a couple kills would qualify you for that promotion. How many, really?" Kittani shrugs. Faetōsa smiles. "Come on, tell me!" "Well," Kittani says as if deep in thought, stroking her chin, "Let's just say I made ace..." –"You're an ace?" Faetōsa interrupts – "on my first sortie," Kittani finishes. Faetōsa's eyes are wide under her blindfold. "Well, that was enough for the higher ups to overlook that their squadron's best pilot just had the misfortune of being born in the wrong body," Kittani grins. Faetōsa smiles and shakes her head, glancing down the aisle of lockers. The stare of a nearby clone solider donning his armor lingers on the undressing Kittani a fleeting moment too long, and his failure to avert his eyes does not go unnoticed. Kittani rolls her eyes and shrugs at Faetōsa, stepping out of her flight suit and heading for the shower. She flashes a wry smirk. "The real question is, how many kills it takes to get our own locker room, huh?"

5

As Kittani returns from the shower, Faetōsa's blue skin masks her bashfulness. "Actually, I have to go back to my quarters because my tunic and robes are there," she says, eyeing the nearby male soldiers in various states of undress. Kittani pulls on an undershirt and a pair of pants and snaps them closed. "Nonsense. Besides, I have something for you." She reaches into a locker labeled RAVENFLIGHT. As she rummages around inside, she continues: "You know, the clones are pretty respectful, actually. They're born and bred as soldiers after all, so they value fighting prowess. They recognize and appreciate true warriors when they see them. It's the Republican Navy officers, actually, that are the worst." Faetōsa is taken aback. "Really? I would have thought most of them, as Academy graduates, would know better." Kittani slams the locker shut, clutching a bag of clothes. "That's the problem, kid. They're all insufferable, stuck-up, entitled nitwits. It's a pretty exclusive boy's club, you know? That's why I don't eat in the officer's mess, or use their locker room, or spend time in their rec-room." Kittani opens the bag and withdraws a freshly pressed officer's uniform, complete with Commander's insignia. "I had the quartermaster's mate tailor this in your size. Here, take it." Faetōsa feels the olive fabric of an Naval officer's uniform in her hands. "When you wear it, those boys on the bridge can't forget who they answer to. Do you like it?" Faetōsa smiles wide. "Kittani, I love it. This is a wonderful gift. Thank you."

6

Kittani continues to don her own uniform, tying her boots. Faetōsa is still in her flight suit, holding her new kit. "What's wrong? Aren't you going to put it on?" Kittani asks. Faetōsa shifts uncomfortably, nodding in the direction of the clone solider tarrying nearby. Kittani places a laced boot on his bench with a thud. "Hey, you. You're new here, aren't you? What's your name?" The solider fumbles to attention, saluting. "ARC Trooper 29175, sir!" Kittani looks at Faetōsa as if asking permission; Faetōsa shrugs unknowingly. "Not anymore. From now on, you're Deadweight." From down the row of lockers, Vulture and Boomerang appear, clad in little more than towels, laughter erupting from their identical faces. "Deadweight! Ha! Love it." Deadweight looks pleadingly to Kittani. "Please, sir, not that one. I've waited my whole life to be given a name!" Vulture approaches and pats him on the head. "There, there, Deadweight, you just learned you first lesson aboard the Big A: don't mess with the Lieutenant Commander – she makes up our callsigns." A horrified look comes over Deadweight. "She's the Lieutenant Commander?" He looks in a new light at Kittani, who waves. "Bye bye," she mouths, and Deadweight is hauled off by Vulture and Boomerang. Kittani turns to Faetōsa with a thumbs up. "You're all clear."

7

Clean and refreshed, Faetōsa steps out of the locker room to meet Kittani in the corridor; there, Vulture and Boomerang also await. The three hoot and holler as the Pantoran woman emerges in the garb of the Republican Navy. "Sir, yes sir!" calls Vulture. Boomerang whistles. "Excellent! Tōsa, really, you look really great," Kittani says warmly. Faetōsa turns in the uniform. "You think so?" The three snap their heels and offer a smart salute. The Pantoran takes pride in her new appearance. She feels empowered by her clothes in a way she had never felt in her Jedi robes. Who hasn't felt a similar feeling of liberation when a new identity is afforded by their appearance? Faetōsa returns their salute, but frowns slightly. "I wonder what Major Reth would say, seeing me like this." The foursome falls silent. Kittani nods solemnly. "He'd be proud of you, getting to know to his men, his ship, and his home." Vulture and Boomerang nod in affirmation. Kittani places a hand on her hip. "Now, Tōsa and I have to report to the bridge. We'll meet you two in the mess." Boomerang feigns disappointment. "Aww, but I wanted to spend some quality time with Cap'n Drayen too!" Faetōsa folds her arms in mock disapproval. "Is that insubordination I hear?" Boomerang and Vulture grin knowingly and depart.

8

As they approach the bridge, Faetōsa asks the obvious question. "What did Boomerang mean about Captain Drayen?" Kittani stops at the threshold. "Oh, he's giving me grief because he thinks I have a thing for the Captain. Truth is, Drayen is my mentor. I'm aboard the Ardent only because of him; he's the only commanding officer in the fleet who didn't think having a woman as Squadron Leader would make him combat ineffective. I owe him a great deal for giving me the chance to prove myself in combat." Kittani's voice falls low. "But still, even on Drayen's ship, the officer corps isn't exactly a kaleidoscope," Kittani says. "Think about it; when what the last time you saw a non-humanoid with skin darker than yours on the bridge of the Ardent or any other cruiser for that matter?" The door to the bridge opens, and Faetōsa is surprised to see Eschrik standing next to Captain Drayen at the ship's central console. The women are appraised by their respective masters. As Captain Drayen ushers Kittani over with a warm smile, Eschrik only sparingly notices his Padawan. It has been three days since she has seen him last, and they had spoken as many words to each other in the last week. What had he been doing in that time?, Faetōsa wonders. She eyes Eschrik and Kittani curiously. Though they were so different, their common thirst for combat had brought them both into Faetōsa's life. And whereas Eschrik thought he needed combat to prove himself a Jedi, Kittani needed combat to prove her value was no less than that of a man. Strange how the war both destroyed and created, Faetōsa mulls.

9

"Commander Rei!" Captain Drayen remarks, looking Faetōsa up and down. "You very much look the part today." She salutes. "Thank you, sir." She looks expectantly towards Eschrik. A distant look in his eyes, the Jedi hardly registers her presence let alone the replacement of her robes. His eyes betray a mental life far from the bridge of the Ardent. "I understand you've been doing some flight training with the Lieutenant Commander?" asks Drayen. Faetōsa nods. "Vulture and Boomerang have been a great help too," she adds. Drayen nods in appreciation. "Well, you couldn't have picked better instructors. Those two are a formidable team. Excuse me," Drayen smiles, turning to a report delivered from an attending ensign. While he waits for the Captain's signature, the ensign peers warily at the two women. Kittani raises her brows, and the man looks away awkwardly. "Another day, another drill," Drayen sighs, finally looking up. "Okay, Jayla, why don't you and Commander Rei organize this fire drill down on E Deck. Then I'll put you two back on Alpha watch." Kittani nods. Drayen looks to Eschrik. "General, shall we proceed to our next coordinates? Or would you like to have some words with your Padawan, perhaps?" Eschrik is almost startled by hearing his name. "Yes, Captain. You may proceed. Pardon me." Seemingly without provocation, Eschrik departs, looking sullen. "I'll be in my quarters," he announces to no one in particular. Drayen and Kittani both salute as the Jedi departs, leaving Faetōsa feeling invisible.

10

"Okay, E deck, listen up." The Squadron Leader's voice rings out over a microphone. "This is a drill! I repeat, this is a drill! All hands, to your stations." With a ringing of the flight deck's alarm siren, Kittani inaugurates the organized chaos of the surprise exercise. In a flurry of activity, the deck comes to life. Faetōsa watches the crew of the flight deck take their battle stations, every man in place like a member of a vast albeit disheveled orchestra. Clone soldiers run out thick hoses towards the line of ARC fighters and gunships standing at the ready on the deck; pilots rush to the air traffic control tower to direct fire control teams; human engineers man the pumping stations and electrical systems. Kittani watches with her arms folded, stopwatch in hand. "They should be here by now..." she says aloud. Faetōsa peers down at the flight deck where the deck boss is shouting impatiently. "Let's go, men! Faster now! If this were the real deal, the Big A would need our help! She's got no patience for lollygagging, and neither do I. Now move it!" A troupe of soldiers in heavy fire suppression gear appear. They take up the hoses which have been placed and readied for use by their compatriots. The engineers wave their readiness. As the deck empties of personnel, water erupts from the tubes, and an unused gunship selected for just this purpose is doused in fire-suppressant foam. Kittani clicks her stopwatch and reaches for the microphone. "Well done, E Deck! That's 2:47 seconds, a 12 second improvement over last time! The Ardent thanks you!" A cheer goes up across the deck. "

11

Their drill complete, Kittani and Faetōsa venture from the flight deck to the enlisted mess. Here they rejoin Alpha watch, which is currently at mid-rotation meal. As Featōsa enters, she is nearly overcome by the raucous noise of the hall. A cacophony of discussion, laughter, and music breaks over her, unlike anything Faetōsa has heard aboard the ship before. Above, the huge emblem of the 173rd Legion is emblazoned across the wall. Below, Faetōsa spots Vulture and Boomerang at a long center table. Here, the pilots of the Ardent's fighter squadron are holding court. Kittani steps to the Pantoran's side. "Let's see. Food's that way, the head's in the back, and the squadron's over there by Vulture." Faetōsa does not move. "What's up?" Kittani asks, clapping her on the back. "Never seen a mess before?" Faetōsa shakes her head. "No. I mean, I've always taken my meals aboard ship alone, or with Eschrik. I just had no idea the crew was this big...or your menu." Kittani smiles. "Well, who did you think ran this cruiser, a bunch of droids? Let's go, I'm starving and I have a briefing to run in twenty minutes." Faetōsa piles a tray high with food and makes her way to the pilot's table, where Kittani has already landed apple in hand. "Tenshun!"cries Vulture and the pilots stand at the ready. Surrounding clones and humans turn to look at the source of the increased silence. Faetōsa blushes, but no one can tell. "At ease?" she offers tentatively; it is enough for the pilots, who greet her as one of their own.

12

"Welcome, Commander, to the greatest feast this side of the Colonies," proclaims Boomerang with false grandeur, his arm sweeping over the squadron's trays. Another pilot scoffs with a chortle, tossing a flaky roll in his direction. "Boomerang, you wouldn't know fine dining if it hit you in the face." Boomerang points at his challenger. "You don't say, Lantern? Then how'd you explain the fact that I eat rooks like you for breakfast every day?" The table jeers, and Lantern gives Boomerang a look but accepts his humbling. As happy conversation break out, Faetōsa doesn't touch her plate. Instead, she just listens to the boisterous table, picking up threads of different discussions that belie, for all their outward uniformity, the inner diversity of the lives of the ship's inhabitants: "So there I was, the Seppy on my six, and had no choice but to dive for it..." "Nah, you got it backwards; shamarok flitters are native to Ithor, not Honoghr..." "If the Headhunters go 10-0 this season, I'll finally come into some credits of my own!" With a smile, Faetōsa lets the conversations blend together until they are indistinguishable. After a moment, she turns her attention to her tray, and begins to ladle heaping spoonfuls of greens into her mouth with earnest, content to let the pilots continue to cavort with one another. A clone sitting beside her leans in her direction. "Name's Dazzle. Beggin' your pardon, sir, but I didn't think Jedi were allowed such an appetite?" Faetōsa looks at the clone in mid-bite. "How 'bout one of the crew, then?" Dazzle winks, knocking on the table. "Aye, that I can see."

13

After a time, the pilots leave the mess in their wake and proceed in mob-like fashion for the ship's ready room. Dazzle walks with Faetōsa, regaling her with stories of the Ardent's exploits. As they file into the ready room, Dazzle finishes his story: "Then Ravenflight comes diving in, and boom, the Separatist fighter is blown to hell," Dazzles relates, a twinkle in his eye. "I'm only standing here because of her," he concludes, nodding to Kittani at the head of the room. The Lieutenant Commander stands behind a lectern, a look of stern focus attached to her typically easy features. As the pilots take their seats, laughing and joshing each other, Faetōsa leans against the wall. She watches the proceedings with a tinge of envy: here was a real team. Vulture steps to the front of the room. "Alright, settle down, men. The Lieutenant Commander has our orders." In an instant, the Squadron Leader's solemnity is adopted by her pilots. Kittani speaks in a level tone: "Today is day seventeen of our war patrol. As you know, the squadron has one mission and one mission only: protect the Big A. We've been putting up a CAP 'round the clock, and today, we will continue to do so. Vulture, who's up there right now?" Vulture glances at a roster. "Should be Trapper, Streaker, Ion, and Blue." Kittani nods. "Alright, Lantern and Dazzle, you're up next. Be sure to cycle the targeting computers while you're out there." The two pilots nod, jotting down notes. The Squadron Leader closes her notebook, and a small smile turns the corner of her lip. "Alright, the rest of you are stood down, and some of you owe me a game of cards in the rec-room. But there is one other piece of business we must attend to. As some of you know, our friend Commander Rei has been flying with us recently…" – shouts, whistles, and calls of "All right, sir!" brings Faetōsa off the wall – "and I think it's time she got a callsign, don't you?" A roar of approval comes from the pilots, and nearly all decorum of the briefing is lost to their ravenous enthusiasm. "Vampire!" yells Boomerang. "Bull's-eye!" says Gambler "Pan!" offers Lantern. Faetōsa chuckles and waves them off, but they will not be deterred. "Rei-Gun!" laughs Vulture. "How 'bout Fandango?" shouts Dazzle. Kittani looks at the pilot skeptically; he shrugs. "It's the color of her hair, isn't it?" Kittani nods, pleasantly surprised. Vulture throws up his hands, grumbling, "C'mon? Rei-Gun? Get it?" The Squadron Leader looks to the pilots. "How do you all feel about Fandango?" A cheer goes up, and Faetōsa almost noticeably turns the very shade of her new namesake.

14

The briefing concluded, the squadron has relocated to the partially empty storage locker they call their rec-room. Though several pilots have reported to the flight deck, the duties of the combat air patrol are modest enough to allow most of the squadron to carouse at their leisure. The revelry of the rec-room rivals that of the mess. Music plays from crackling speakers, mismatched glasses clink, and a veil of smoke hangs above the ceiling. A ring of pilots including Kittani sit around a table, flicking cards at one another and pulling long drags from an assortment of pipes and thick cigars. Faetōsa sits across from Boomerang, a holographic board between them. Vulture approaches their game. "Who's winning?" he asks with a grin. "Fandango here is giving me a good run for my money, but what can I say, Vulture? I was born a gifted Dejarik player." Faetōsa grunts in concentration and unbuttons the top of her uniform. Vulture chides his friend. "Come now, Boomerang, let the rookie win." With a final smash of the Molator, Boomerang reclines in his chair. "Another day, another victory," he celebrates. Faetōsa sighs loudly and smiles. She fingers Cregan's wooden figure, which is tucked into the folds of her uniform. Could it really be that the little figure had brought her the luck of finally finding friendship after nearly two years of isolation? Loathe though she is to accept such a thing as luck, Faetōsa cannot help but feel very lucky indeed. She leans forward. "Okay, I want a rematch!" Before the two can reset the pieces, however, the door to the rec-room opens with a gasping sound. The music immediately fades. Kittani's voice rings out: "Officer on deck!" The clone pilots leap to their feet, chairs askew. Faetōsa turns to the doorway, her chest constricting. There, Eschrik stands irritably. "Where is my Padawan?" he growls.

15

The master and apprentice stand for a long time by a small viewport, looking out over the stars. Eschrik sighs, gingerly caressing a fresh scar on his shoulder. "Padawan, I came to check in on your studies, but I'm shocked to find you in that gambling den, out of your robes, your Jedi duties totally abandoned. What do you have to say for yourself?" Faetōsa sputters slightly. "Eschrik, I wasn't gambling," she says, resisting his characterization of the situation. "And as for this uniform, Captain Drayen has no problem with me wearing it. And will all due respect, master, as for my Jedi duties, what exactly are you talking about?" Eschrik places his hands behind his back stiffly. "When not serving the Council, a Padawan's duties are to sit in mediation, to practice lightsaber velocities, and to be at her master's side. You must live frugally, without the false gratification of petty entertainments." Faetōsa gestures. "But master, you've been shut away for days, weeks now! I rarely see you at all, and now that I am, I'm not sure your frugal living is working for you. You look exhausted and unhappy." She opens her arms wide in a gesture of openness. "Eschrik, why do you isolate yourself from the crew? From the captain? From me? It wouldn't kill you to cultivate some relationships here, would it?" Eschrik's eyes narrow. Faetōsa's noticed the timbre of her voice, and she tempers her own: "Master Eschrik, what's wrong?" Suddenly, Eschrik raises his own voice. "Do not try and change the subject and make your failures about me, Padawan. You misunderstand our Order and me. Our Code tells us to be above covetousness, whether it be in our relationships to others or materially. They are one and the same. When we deny ourselves these things, we rise above them, and thus master them. I do not partake in relationships as you say because I will not allow them to master me." He turns swiftly on his heel, seemingly incensed. "That is why I forbid you from partaking in any more frivolous fooling about with clones," he snaps. "And take off that haphazard uniform. You're a Jedi. You must learn to cultivate a higher bearing by denying yourself these cheap material pleasures." Surprised at his anger, Faetōsa fumbles with the buttons of her uniform in haste. As she does so, the wooden figure of Jalaila drops from its folds. Eschrik is quicker than his apprentice. "Padawan, where did you get this? How long have you been carrying this idol? " Faetōsa reaches out a hand pleadingly. "Please, it's from a friend." Eschrik's eyes are afire. "A Jedi has no business being in the possession of any material thing, let alone a false idol such as this." Eschrik clenches his fist, the statue cracking in his powerful hand. He deposits the shivers of wood in her palms. "There is only one power in this universe, Rei, and it is the power of the Force."

16

There is silence for a moment. Eschrik scowls, prepared for yet another round of verbal sparring with his headstrong apprentice. Yet Faetōsa turns away and speaks softly, "Why are you punishing me like this?" The Herglic is surprised by her words. He pauses. "I'm not punishing you, Rei. Don't you see? I'm trying to teach you how to be a Jedi," Eschrik replies honestly. Faetōsa is undeterred. "Then how come every time I've tried and talk to you in the last two weeks, you don't seem at interested in having a relationship with me?" she says angrily. Eschrik's voice falls to a hush. "I have had much on my mind..." Faetōsa shrugs. "It's fine. I know that you're punishing me for what happened on Lothal." Eschrik's harsh expression of anger dissolves. This is not the response he was anticipating. "For Dooku's escape?" he asks warily. Faetōsa crosses her arms. "Confronting him was your singular goal for an entire year. When we finally faced him, he got away, and it was my fault that he escaped; if I had been able to escape from under that debris, he would have been able to pursue him. I've been trying to apologize to you since we left Lothal, Eschrik, but you've just been ignoring me ever since. And while I am sorry..." She pauses and rounds on her master, "You don't have to take the things I care about to prove your point." Eschrik shakes his head, but an unseen burden seems to be lifted from his shoulders. He mumbles and then clears his throat. "I admit I may have...struggled being reassigned from pursuing that villain. As much as I, too, regret losing Dooku, we cannot allow emotion to guide our actions," says Eschrik hollowly, unable to mask his own disappointment. "But you must know that I forbid this uniform of yours and purge this false idol not out of retribution, but out of edification. I am trying to instruct you in the ways of the Jedi. As a Jedi, you must not feel such feelings of regret or attachment towards anything that would disrupt your emotions." Eschrik's gaze returns to the stars, accompanied by a long sigh. "Long have I feared that I would make a poor teacher. And when I see you in that uniform, in possession of idols, and spending your time in that den of sin, I see nothing but my own failure." His voice wavers. Now it is Faetōsa's turn to be surprised. Then, with a clench of his fist, Eschrik's voice becomes resolute once again. "But then I remember my training. 'There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.' I will make you a Jedi, Rei, I promise you that. It will be difficult, and I may not earn your respect at every turn. But I will succeed." Faetōsa has rarely heard him speak like this before; she is speechless at his vulnerability. He pauses again. "You know, we are very different, you and I. That's not unlike the relationship between my master Val Aath and myself. Yet it is my hope that our differences do not result in similar estrangement." Faetōsa nods. "Me too," the words springing softly from her lips. Eschrik shows a fleeting smile. "Now, retrieve your robes, please. When you are ready, report back to me."

17

Faetōsa had retraced her steps to her quarters oblivious to the world around her, failing to notice even the pilot who greeted her in the corridor as "Fandango." She was deep in thought as she pulled from her locker her Jedi tunic, aware of its coarse texture and feeling as if she deserved its discomfort. For the first time in over a year, Faetōsa entertains a small flicker of appreciation for her master. She has been so wary, so suspicious of his intentions ever since she had begun to suspect that he had used the Jedi mind trick on her that she had grown almost permanently disdainful of him. But she has only her suspicions, no matter how well-founded they might be, not proof. And into this vacuum of uncertainty she has allowed fear and distrust to fester. She has been so critical of everything Eschrik has done – his decisions to leave the villagers on Drall, the entire mission to Antar Four, his command to engage Dooku on Lothal – that she has grown blind to all that Eschrik had done to help her. After all, had it not been for him, she wouldn't even be in the Order at all. He had even saved her life on Lothal. And Ty would be forever lost. She owed him her allegiance, her confidence, her respect. She had given him none. And still! After all her insubordination, he was the one worried about being a poor teacher, say nothing about her being a poor student! Quickly now, Faetōsa pulls the Jedi tunic over her head and affixes her lightsaber to her belt. Had she tried to learn his lessons with an open mind? Unexpectedly, the questioning voice of her father swims into in her head, a voice she has not heard since Hoth, but in her shame she suppresses this voice. What good had it done? Being reminded that she was empathetic or intelligent had only filled her with self-righteousness, a sense that she had known better than her master. A tide of dishonor rises in her heart.

18

There is a knock. Faetōsa opens the door. Kittani is standing in the corridor. "Tōsa, there you are! After Eschrik showed up, I was beginning to think –" She stops. "What happened to your uniform?" Faetōsa deposits the uniform and insignia in Kittani's hands. "Listen, Kittani. This was a lovely gesture, thank you. Same with teaching me to fly. And allowing me to spend time with you and the squadron. But in spending time with you, I've been derelict in my commitments to my Jedi training, and to my master." Kittani stares at Faetōsa, her eyes greeted only by the opaque blindfold. Then, she pushes the uniform back to its owner. "Keep it, kid. It was a gift." Faetōsa shakes her head. "No, it was a mistake." Kittani's eyes narrow. "Tōsa, you don't mean that." Suddenly, Faetōsa is flushed with bittersweet anger. "And what if I do?!" The Corellian woman is confused. "Why are you talking like this, huh? What did Eschrik say to you?" But Faetōsa does not hear. "Kittani, you don't understand," she chokes. "I've been an ungrateful apprentice, I'm an even worse student, and I bring harm to those I care about!" The words fall out of her like shards of broken glass. Kittani is further taken aback. "What are you talking about? What's wrong, kid?" Hot tears well in Faetōsa's eyes. "My father, Dash, and Cregan...I could have saved them, if only I were stronger." Kittani tries to smile comfortingly. "Did you ever think that maybe they gave their lives for you?," she whispers. "Then I don't deserve their sacrifice!" Faetōsa replies bitterly. "It's what family do," Kittani affirms, placing a hand on Faetōsa's shoulder. "I can't have a family anymore, don't you understand?! I am a Jedi!" Faetōsa shouts as she tries to force the uniform into Kittani's hands. Several soldiers walking the corridor turn and stare. Kittani raises her chin. "They say clothes make the man," she says bitterly, gazing at Faetōsa's Jedi robes. "But in your case, they certainly make the woman."

19

Faetōsa leans off the side of her solitary bunk, her hands clenching her head as if it were about to explode. The uniform lies on the steel plating of the deck where she had thrown it. She squeezes tight her eyes in frustration. Kittani could never understand the strictures of the Jedi Order; she owed her allegiance to her master. It was not as if she had a choice, right?, she rationalizes. Annoyed at this gnawing doubt, Faetōsa gets to her feet. She retrieves the uniform, which she begins to slowly and neatly fold. This mess is of her own doing, she thinks. Had she not been so naive to indulge in the foolish hope that Eschrik would allow her to maintain friendships, Kittani would not now feel betrayed. "Damn it," she whispers aloud, jamming her hands in the folds of her tunic in frustration. She pauses and removes the split pieces of the statue of Jalaila. Though Eschrik could not have known it, his destruction of the statue was deeply suggestive – had he known about his Padawan's liaisons with Cregan, there was a good chance that Eschrik surely would have done the same to the farm boy's body as he had done to his statute. Sighing heavily, she places the broken figure on top of the folded uniform, which she in turn places on the ground in front of her. A discarded uniform of the Republic navy and a broken statue; this was the sum total of Faetōsa's worldly possessions. She considers this pittance. They were only material things, Eschrik would remind her, and true Jedi do not allow themselves to be ruled by their attachments to such paltry material objects. But were they just objects? No, Faetōsa resolves. They were symbols of value which radiated meaning to the young Pantoran woman: Friendship. Affection. Loyalty. No, Faetōsa stops herself, not loyalty - for what loyalty had she shown to Kittani? Faetōsa had sent her only friend in the world away in anger. These materials tokens were all she had left of Cregan. Cregan was gone. But Kittani wasn't. What had she done? Faetōsa leaps to her feet. As she places both the uniform and the shards of Jalaila in her locker, she stands resolute. Her material possessions did not own her, as Eschrik would have feared, but the commitments to the others that they represented surely did.

20

But before she can make a move, Faetōsa is thrown off her feet as a violent explosion rocks the ship. She unsteadily gets to her feet as Captain Drayen's voice rings out: "All hands, battle stations! I repeat, battle stations! This is not a drill!" As a wailing siren replaces the Captain's voice, Faetōsa darts to the door. "No, no, no," Faetōsa mutters, sprinting forth from her quarters. Soldiers and pilots surge down the corridor outside, and she joins the stampede of crew making their way to the flight deck. Faetōsa struggles to keep her balance as the deck bounces and shakes under the reverberations of explosions against the Ardent's hull. The Captain's voice returns: "Bravo watch, report to damage control. I want all birds in the air, now! Marines, make ready to repel boarders." Faetōsa races past the ready room where the pilots are pouring forth. "Vulture! Boomerang! What's going on? Where is Kittani?" The two men wear steely expressions. "Fandango! Enemy fleet operating behind our lines. Jumped right on top of us." The veteran pilots are grave. Faetōsa asks calmly: "How bad is it?" Vulture dons his helmet gravely. "The CAP got blown away." Faetōsa shakes her head. "Lantern? Dazzle?" Boomerang slowly shakes his head. Faetōsa's voice quickens: "Where is Kittani?" The two pilots start to sprint towards the flight deck: "Ravenflight's already out there!"

21

"Sir, the bridge has been locked down, I can't let you in there," pleads a soldier. Faetōsa grimaces as the ship lurches underfoot. "Just open the door, corporal." He wavers in indecision, and Faetōsa loses what little patience she has. "Now! That's an order!" "Oh hell," he mutters, and manually overrides the door. Faetōsa runs onto the bridge amidst the turmoil of loosely organized chaos. Officers desperately man their panels, organizing fire fighters and engineers, and deploying soldiers to critical points throughout the ship. She sees Captain Drayen as he stands over the ship's holographic well, coordinating the Ardent's defense. Typically calm and collected in combat situations, the captain now appears rather grim. "I want all fighters to focus their fire on the flagship. Batteries A through D, pinpoint your fire on their shields. Let's see if we can't disrupt their attack." Faetōsa hears a welcome voice crackle over the comm channel: "Yes sir, me and my boys are on it!" Knowing Kittani was out there makes Faetōsa feel a momentary feeling of reassurance. She approaches the captain. "Sir, how can I help?" Drayen looks out the central viewport. "You can tell me what three Separatist frigates are doing in the heart of Republican space. Rei, where is your master?" Faetōsa turns her head. "Is he not here?" Faetōsa says slightly absentmindedly as she grasps the situation with her Force-sight. She can lightly feel the presence of three warships with scores of droid fighters against only a dozen ARC-170s. She can tell that the Ardent is badly outmatched. "Of course I am!" comes Eschrik's voice from afar. "Captain, what is going on?" Drayen turns to the Jedi. "General, we've been engaged by a Separatist task force." Eschrik glances out the viewport at the unfolding battle with a steely gaze. Gone is the vulnerabiltiy and introspection of her encounter with him in the corrdidor, replaced by the remorseless militant. "Very good, Captain. You hold them here. Is my fighter ready?" Captain Drayen shakes his head. "General, I'm afraid I cannot allow you to venture into combat." The Herglic scoffs. "Captain, you cannot stop me from a good fight!" Drayen lowers his voice. "Eschrik, you don't understand. If you leave the Ardent now, there's a good chance you won't have a ship to come back to."

22

Eschrik stares dumbfounded at the captain as the Ardent continues to rumble and shake."Captain Drayen, are you telling me we're about the lose the ship?" the Jedi says loudly. Drayen winces; officers in the control pit below freeze and look anxiously up to their captain. Kittani's voice interrupts from the comm: "Nice shot, Vulture. Gambler, you've got one on your six, look out!" The three stare upward towards the cloud of fighters engaged in a bitter dogfight above the Ardent. "I can't shake him!" comes back Gambler's reply. Then comes a sound of lasers, a scream, and silence. Kittani's hardened voice follows: "Gambler is down. All wings, form on me. Let's try and get to the flagship." Faetōsa's face turns pale. Drayen looks back to Eschrik. "Sir, they got in a lucky opening salvo before we could fully charge our shields. My engineers are working on it, but our hyperspace drives are damaged. We don't have enough armor to withstand their fire as we retreat at sub-luminal speeds. I've set course to the nearest planet with a Republican presence, and I'll try and set her down there." Eschrik approaches the console, trying to adjust to the reality of the situation. "And where is that, Captain?" Drayen reaches over the console, and a hologram of a planet springs in the air. "Giju, sir. I suppose I don't need to tell you, but there's a small Republican base there, along with a Jedi mission. It should be enough to –"Eschrik takes a step away from the console. "Not there, Captain," he interrupts. "What other planets are near?" Drayen shrugs in confusion as explosions continue to break out on the hull. "There are none, sir. General, I thought seeing as you –" But Eschrik folds his hands behind his back and turns to the viewport. "Then, Captain Drayen, we have no choice. We will do honor to our Republic and the Jedi Order and fight to the death."

23

The Ardent is bleeding oxygen and coughing smoke into space. Her shields beaten down, the ship's hull is now punctured in many places. Still, the remaining crew inside fights on, as the Venator cruiser claws to put distance between her three assailants, racing desperately towards a brownish-blue planet hanging in space just off the bow. On the bridge, a Herglic Jedi stamps his huge feet. "Captain Drayen! I order you to turn this ship around and face the enemy! That's an order!" But Drayen does not heed the Jedi's demands. "General, I acknowledge your orders. But I am the Captain of this vessel. It is my sole duty to protect it and its crew. Therefore, I deem your plan to stand and fight as an unacceptable risk to my mission, and subsequently as grounds to ignore your orders." Eschrik's eyes narrow. "You cannot do this. This is mutiny." Drayen turns to the Jedi and smiles darkly. "Watch me, General." Drayen then speaks throughout the ship. "Crew of the Ardent, this is your captain. We've lost some good men out there, but their sacrifice makes both me and the Big A proud. But we cannot win this battle – yet we're not going to lose, either. I need you to hold on a little longer; we're going to land the Ardent on the surface of Giju. Engineering, full speed ahead. Stern batteries, give our fighters the help they need against those frigates. All hands, do whatever you can to keep this ship together. Good luck!" A moment of silence hangs over the bridge. Only the sounds of lasers and explosions penetrate the quiet left in the wake of the captain's defiance. Then, a huge explosion illuminates the bridge. The leading Separatist capital ship has erupted into a massive fireball. The Squadron Leader's voice emerges: "Ardent actual, this is Ravenflight. One frigate down!" From deep within the heart of the Venator, a cheer becomes slowly audible: "Dray-en! Dray-en! Dray-en!" The captain winks at Eschrik.

24

Before Eschrik can retaliate at this blatant insubordination, a new series of blasts shake the bridge. Scores of officers are thrown off their feet. Kittani's voice again comes over the comm: Vulture! Boomerang! No!" Faetōsa rushes to the stern viewport, searching the swarm of fighters for her friends. Amid a cloud of droid fighters and a blur of lasers, very few ARC fighters remain. Drayen hails Kittani. "Ravenflight, what happened?" There is a long pause, filled with the sounds of battle. The Ardent continues to shudder. "They're gone, sir." Faetōsa's chest tightens; she slams her fist against the glass. She had just seen them outside the ready room...how could they be gone? Drayen begins to speak, but the Ardent staggers anew under a massive detonation. Everyone on the bridge is flung off their feet, with the exception of the two Jedi. An ensign pipes up as the lights begin to flicker: "Captain, our reactor's been hit! We're losing power now." Another ensign reports. "Our main batteries read offline, sir!" Drayen turns. "How far are we from Giju?" One of the ship's navigators shakes his head. "We need twenty more minutes, sir. But without power, we're slowing down. We're not going to make it..." Drayen solemnly leans over the console. "Alright, Ravenflight. We're out of time. That's enough," he says resignedly. "There's nothing more you can do for us out there. Use emergency coordinates Zeta 333 and get out of here." Kittani relays the message to the remnants of her squadron. Faetōsa watches the remaining ARC fighters break off, save for one. Kittani's voice fills the bridge. "Ardent actual, this is Ravenflight. Thank you, cap'n. I'm going to buy you some time. Fandango, if you're listening out there, I hope you know all is forgiven. That's what friends do, kid." Eschrik's eyes are glued to the closing Separatist frigates, but Drayen stares directly at Faetōsa. She turns to him in alarm. "Drayen, what is she doing?" The captain's face is slack. Faetōsa makes a motion to join Drayen at the console, but she is too late. The second Separatist frigate is enveloped by a colossal blossom of fire and the Ardent is pelted with a shower of debris. Faetōsa wildly scans the space where the ship had been, but she sees nothing but empty space. The comm channel turns to static, and Drayen sluggishly switches it off.

25

As the Ardent closes with Giju, the ship is rocked by a fusillade from the last remaining Separatist frigate. Droid fighters pepper the Venator with lasers and torpedoes, ripping gaping holes in the ship's hull. "Come on, come on," Drayen mutters solemnly, willing the Big A onwards. The crew of the bridge is transfixed; they risk a growing gloom of smoke and sparks to stare desperately at the looming planet before them. As the Ardent approaches the orange atmosphere, the ship begins to groan and disintegrate. Faetōsa's pulse begins to pound as massive chunks of metal begin to break away and burst into flames like meteorites. Eschrik approaches the console as rust colored clouds envelope the forward viewport. "Captain Drayen, you should have made a stand and fought. Now, however, with this accursed planet below, you are precluded from an honorable death. It is long past time to abandon this ship." The captain clenches the console as the lights of the bridge crackle and are finally extinguished. "Full power loss!" An officer calls out. "Reactor is critical! Life support is gone! Hull integrity is down to fifteen percent!" Drayen reaches for the comm. "All hands, you may abandon ship." The officers reluctantly begin to move from their stations. Eschrik grunts and pushes his Padawan towards a passage where several escape pods remain intact. Faetōsa stumbles forward, the deck now at a dramatic incline, turning one last time towards Drayen. "Captain, you must abandon ship!" she pleads. "This isn't just any ship, Commander," he says mutedly. "It's my ship." "Foolish attachment," Eschrik mutters. Just then, the orange clouds part, and a brown ocean dotted with islands emerges below. Drayen is fixated on the waves. "Just like the captains of old," he says, bemused. A calm expression of finality eases the tense grip of battle written on the captain's face, He looks at Faetōsa over his shoulder. "I've got to try," he says sheepishly. "You go now." Faetōsa nods solemnly, retreating from the bridge. Eschrik shouts madly, and the two Jedi claw their way up the inclined deck towards an escape pod. The doors seal behind them and the pod shoots from the bridge at a high velocity, passing through a vast galaxy of tumbling debris. Then, a wall of energy followed by a thundering sound knocks Faetōsa against the wall of the escape pod, spelling an end to her consciousness as she and her master veer inexorably towards the surface of Giju.